Edward Young

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume;
The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.
Sense read more

Sense is our helmet, wit is but the plume;
The plume exposes, 'tis our helmet saves.
Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound;
When cut by wit, it casts a brighter beam;
Yet, wit apart, it is a diamond still.

Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
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Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
O Britain! infamous for suicide.

Nothing but what astonishes is true.

Nothing but what astonishes is true.

What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach,
'Tis an implicit satire on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it read more

What is a miracle?--'Tis a reproach,
'Tis an implicit satire on mankind;
And while it satisfies, it censures too.